A Glimpse of Darkness
by justalittlesoul
Summary: Riddick has landed. On Earth. The Ministry of Magic calls for his destruction after the death of an Auror, but Harry wants to find out more. Harry/Riddick. Between Pitch Black & Chronicles.
1. Brief Encounter

Hello! Welcome to this story. I have written this for the enjoyment of writing, so please note I may have been slightly careless with details, particularly with the background and life of Riddick. This story would take place between Pitch Black and Chronicles.

This story is implausible in its premise, but I hope not too implausible in its relationships and emotions.

**Chapter 1**

"_Was he the only one on board?"_

"_No. There were three more. We tried to save them, but all are dead."_

Dead...

"_Who is he?"_

"What _is he is the question. He's not human..."_

"_Job for Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures then..."_

"_Not yet. It could be dark magic that brought him here, we don't know. Bastard killed an Auror."_

_A gasp. "An Auror?"_

_The sound of footsteps._

"_Mr. Potter will be arriving shortly."_

"_Good. Maybe he'll be able to make sense of all of this."_

"_We all hope so."_

_..._

The walls of Azkaban were always wet. The sea raged against the island where it stood in its solitary vigil, and the spray constantly spattered those walls closest to it. People rarely stayed outside for long, generally apparating and then hurrying inside as quickly as possible. But today Harry Potter stood and surveyed those foreboding walls.

He had been here many times. Working in the Auror office meant dark wizards, and dark wizards almost always ended up in Azkaban. Or dead, of course. His brow furrowed as he remembered the last time he was here, after the murder of that small boy. The wizard who had committed the atrocity wasn't Dark, as much as they could tell, but insane. Still, he had stayed here a while before he had been transferred to the high security department of St. Mungos. Harry shivered at the memory of questioning that man, his screams, his pleas for mercy and innocence alternating with cackles of merciless laughter.

But that was not why he was here today. A different man resided within these walls now. A man who was not, as far as they could tell, magical. But still extremely dangerous and certainly not _human._He had killed two aurors before they could capture him. He moved with an inhuman speed which none of them had expected.

He slowly crossed the grey sand towards the grim entrance, considering all that he had been told of the events of the previous Monday. The two Aurors who had been first on the scene, Simons and Moon, both rookies, had attacked him as soon as he had emerged from the smouldering wreckage of the _thing_ that had fallen from the sky. Shaken and terrified, Moon had attempted to stun the man (he used 'man' for lack of a better word) as soon as she spotted him. She missed, and a moment later, his knife was at her neck. Maybe _then_, they could have stopped and spoken. If only Harry had been there! But apparently, Simons, in panic at the capture of his partner, had attempted another stun, which had caused the man to kill the girl.

Perhaps he would have killed Simons too, had ne not been overpowered by the Aurors that apparated there moment later. The whole Auror office was in chaos. Being an Auror was a risky job at the best of times, but an Aurors murdered by a non-wizard? There were questions being asked about the training standards right at this very moment.

Harry Potter rubbed his eyes vigorously. It had been a long, tiring few days. Now, however, he was finally going to meet this man, this creature. He had been presented with a photograph in his office – a beast of a man, heavily muscled with tan skin, hunched in a corner with strange, rubbery goggles obscuring his eyes. The photograph showed him skulking, static. For a moment Harry had thought it was a muggle photograph, he was so still, before he had noticed the chest rise a fall just a little.

A small man hurried up to him from an ante-chamber, and bowed before him.

"Mr. Potter. How good to see you. Shall I take you to see the most recent detainee, or would you like some refreshment first? Some tea, maybe, or..."

"No, no, Robert," Harry cut the man off quickly. Robert had a tendency to babble until he was halted. Harry always thought that perhaps Robert's lack of companionship all day, apart from the guards, meant that when he _did_ finally get someone to talk to he just couldn't stop himself. He pitied Robert's wife. "I'll see him now. I've just had lunch anyway."

Robert bobbed his head, "Quite so, quite so Mr. Potter. Well, I'll take you to him now, we've got him down in block E, down here now..."

The prison was cheerier than it had been in the days of the dementors. Kingsley Shacklebolt had made lots of changes now he was the Minister for Magic, and the prison cells were now heavily magiced to prevent escape, with dedicated guards on watch constantly. The task had been immense, with a whole new department created for the task. Harry had helped a fair amount, adding his power to the new cells. However, you could never have called it pleasant here. The walls were still dark stone, the hallways empty of decoration apart from the odd chair, the torches held in wall brackets flickering eerily. He shuddered. Brushed metal doors lined the walls, each with a number printed on it.

Finally they approached Corridor E. Robert swished his wand over one of the metal doors and then pressed his palm to it, stepping back as the door slowly opened. They were faced with a small room, painted white, in which stood two simple wooden chairs. At the back of the room, instead of another solid wall, there was a row of thick, black, metal bars. Beyond these, there the cell. The walls were the cold, dark stone with which the prison was built. The stones were not damp as they had once been, as they had charmed them to repel moisture, but they were still icy to the touch, even when the surrounding room was tolerably warm. A slab of stone was raised against one wall, with a thin mattress resting on top.

It was in this room, that he crouched.

Harry couldn't help but walk to the bars and stare at the man. He had never seen anyone who looked so powerful. He had seen pictures of bodybuilders, but he could tell that this man had never seen the inside of a gym. His power, his strength, had been borne of a life where he used his body constantly. His face was expressionless, his eyes hidden behind those dark goggles. He was not in a comfortable position, but instead hunched in the corner of the cell, coiled as though preparing to strike. He wore a plain white vest (it looked as though it had once had sleeves which had since been torn off), which stretched over his muscled chest, and simple black pants of a canvas material.

"Do you need me for anything, Mr. Potter? Or shall I leave you now?" Robert asked, jerking Harry out of his observations. His voice was slightly higher than before, frightened, and Harry saw his eyes flicked nervously to the man in the cell. He understood. Magical or not, the man gave a sense of deep and extreme power.

"No, you can go. I will call for you when I am finished." Harry said, and Robert nodded and hurried away, snapping the door shut behind him.

Harry drew one of the chairs up to the cell bars and sat, bracing his hands on his knees and stared at the man. He made Harry feel really quite small, which he was not used to. Harry was much more muscular and powerful than he had been when he had defeated Lord Voldemort. Auror training was very intense, and he was now solidly built. But it was nothing compared to this man. A reed waving in the wake of this man's powerful torrent.

Harry wondered if the man would speak. No one had mentioned him talking at all, just staring impassively behind those dark goggles. They had removed them, he had been told, but his eyes were different from normal, so they had replaced them for fear of injuring or blinding the man. He wished he could see the eyes, though. It would make him more human.

Finally, Harry spoke. "My name is Mr. Potter. I am here to speak to you from the magical government. You are detained because you murdered a wizard. But we don't know where you are from, or what you are." He waited for a long moment, hoping for a response.

The man was silent. Harry couldn't see any signs the man had heard or understood him. His face seemed blank, his mouth straight, with no lines on his forehead to suggest any expression at all.

Harry tried again, "We would like to communicate with you so we can find out what we can do. We don't want to keep you here indefinitely. Obviously you have shown yourself to be very dangerous, but we understand that our Aurors were very threatening towards you."

Another long pause. The man was still. Harry explained the Ministry's part in his apprehension. He explained the man's rights, as he would do for any captured wizard.

Time waned on. After Harry had finished talking, and waited for a response for some time, he stood to leave. This was getting nowhere. They would have to try using magic on the man, something to force him to respond. Harry had never had a trouble getting someone to talk before, being able to use veritaserum if they were uncooperative. But if this man was not even human, he couldn't risk using a potion on him.

Just as he put his hand on the door, however, the man spoke.

"Is the woman dead?" He asked, his voice was deep and gravely, his lips barely moved. There was no emotion in the voice, and Harry could barely believe the words had come from him.

"The woman who was also in your... transport?" Harry asked, hoping to get the man to speak again. He didn't, however, and he was forced to carry on. "Yes, she died. She was dead before we reached her, otherwise we might have been able to save her. The men who were with you also died. I'm sorry," He looked into the man's impassive face, "we had mediwizards in attendance within minutes of your apprehension but both didn't survive."

He felt like the apology and explanation were not enough, not to this man who had lost his only companions. Perhaps, though, this man had held them captive? There was no way of telling.

The man looked away, but did not speak.

Harry looked at his watch. He had to get back to the Ministry.

* * *

><p>Riddick watched the dark-haired man gently shut the door behind him, calling out for the small man to seal it shut.<p>

It was hardly necessary. When he had been left alone, he had attempted to bend the bars that held him in, but without any luck. They were no metal he had ever come across before. They were completely unyielding, and were not even warm after he had grappled with them for some time.

So he had sat, and waited. Someone would probably come to bring him food. He would grab them, pull them into the bars and threaten to kill them unless the released him.

But to his shock, a plate had materialised in his cell. He hadn't been looking; he supposed someone had put it there, but how? Maybe there was a secret hatch in the cold stone wall. He had run his hands along the wall for a while, trying to find it. But there was nothing there. Water and meals appeared and then disappeared from his cell when he wasn't looking at them. He found it unnerving, and Riddick was not a man who was easily unnerved.

He wasn't entirely sure what to do. He had no plan, now. The black-haired wizard man had told him a great deal about the situation, which no one else had done, but he was no closer to getting free. He did not understand a great deal of what the wizard man had said, but he did now know that he was captive primarily because he had killed that girl.

But what had they being trying to do to him? Bright red beams had shot at him, sparkling and strange, slower than a laser but with the similar smell of heat. He wasn't going to kill the girl, initially, but then he had been attacked further. Riddick was no man to be slain for hesitance to kill. He had slit her throat, and started running. But then there were people everywhere, and what seemed like a hundred streaks of light had hit him in the chest, rendering him instantly unconscious.

It seemed, then, that the beams of light would not have killed him. But he felt no remorse for the death of the girl.

The woman he had been travelling with, Dae, was dead. He felt a stir of anger about that. He had known her only a short time, just the length of the journey. She was strong and wilful, and he had enjoyed her company. They had not been having sex - though it had been on the cards. She had been a good woman, and she was dead. All because of that fool of a pilot. He had recognised Riddick, and called up some merc friends of his who were going to ambush them as soon as they landed. They didn't get that far. Riddick had overpowered him, but the pilot had sabotaged the controls. Riddick had a good knowledge of flying spaceships, but could do very little when he was plummeting towards the ground with a dead control board.

So he was here. Dae was dead, as was that bastard pilot, and the other passenger of the ship Riddick hadn't taken the trouble to know.

He stood, stretching out his long, muscled form. He was tired, exhausted. The journey had been long and tiring _before_ he had crashed here.

He _would_ break out, he resolved. Break out, steal or buy his way onto a ship and then be off back to Helios, or some other planet, to carry on eking out an existence.

He sat back against the wall, and closed his eyes. To rest, not sleep. He would take no chances.


	2. Making Contact

A/N: This story gets a little graphic here. If you don't like slash, I would stop reading if I was you...! ;)

Constructive criticism is welcomed. :) This is a little rough and ready as I just quickly wrote it. I might have to edit it in the morning...!

**Chapter 2**

On Harry's return to the Ministry, he had been accosted with demands for information. The death of Sarah Moon had caused a great amount of confusion, fear, and no small amount of anger. Plenty of Aurors were calling for the destruction of the captive, insisting that he was not a man, but a dangerous creature. The death of one of their own had caused an anger Harry had not anticipated. Simons was in the middle of a small huddle of Aurors, all whispering furiously.

Harry had gone straight to Shacklebolt's office on his arrival, without writing a formal report on the visit. The head of the Auror office would want to know everything he had to say sooner rather than later.

So it was that he stood at the glass-fronted office, through which he could see Shacklebolt already arguing with four or five other Aurors. He leaned against the wooden frame of the door, prepared to wait. He did not want the other Aurors trying to draw him into their argument.

"Did he speak to _you_ then, Potter?" Malfoy drawled from behind him. Harry jumped, twisting round to see Malfoy leaning against a cubicle wall. "Everyone is sure that he must break under _your_ steely gaze."

Harry scowled. Malfoy was no less annoying here at work than he had been at school, although of course less evil.

"No," he said slowly, "he didn't really speak. He asked me whether the woman died in the crash, and I told him yes. After that he didn't say anything."

"Well that's something. I spoke to him and I couldn't get a peep. Not that I knew if he was asleep or listening or anything with those goggle things on. Hey though," Malfoy leaned closer, "did you see his eyes when they took them off?"

Harry blinked, "No, I wasn't there. I didn't know you were either. I thought it was just—"

Malfoy cut him off with a significant, wide-eyed stare, "They're _silver_. Silver, and shiny. Like someone's poured molten metal over the surface. Amazing," Malfoy pulled back, "I wonder why they're like that. Maybe he has x-ray vision."

Harry raised his eyebrows, "Maybe."

Just then, the gaggle of Aurors poured out of the office, Shacklebolt shouting, "And that is my _final word_!" at their retreating backs. One of them shot Harry a considering look, and appeared to be stopping to talk to him, but Harry hurried into the office and shut the door quickly behind him.

"Ah, Mr. Potter." Shacklebolt said, still looking cross and resumed his place behind his large mahogany desk. "I'm glad you came straight to see me. I am looking forward to shedding _some_ light on this case. Sit down." He opened a file that lay in front of him and flicked through it.

"Yes, sir." Harry said automatically, and sat down in the chair facing the desk.

"So, what is your report?" The head of the Auror office asked, turning another page in the report.

"My findings were inconclusive," Harry began, "the man did speak to me..."

"He spoke?" Shacklebolt interrupted, looking up, "What did he say?"

"He asked whether the woman in the crash had survived. I told him she hadn't, and he didn't speak again. I told him where he was and who we were, and why he was there, but he just sat there. At least we know he understands and can speak our language, though..."

"That is one blessing." Shacklebolt agreed. He leaned back in his desk chair, obviously thinking. "I'm just not sure what the best course of action is. We need to find out where he's from; he may be from another Ministry's jurisdiction. If he is, we can move him back there. You will just have to try and coax the truth from him. I expect that he is not a wizard, but perhaps some sort of magical creature we do not have in this country. I have contacted some leading researchers in that field and await their replies on whether they have come across something of this like. If we can converse with him, we can discern where he is from and return him there. He may have to serve a term in Azkaban, but as Moon attacked him first, he will probably receive a reduced sentence if he admits to remorse for his actions."

Shacklebolt looked suddenly tired. "The memorial service for Sarah Moon is tomorrow afternoon. The other Aurors are adamant that we destroy this man, but I simply cannot. Not when we don't know what he is, or where he's from. He could be being controlled by a dark wizard for all we know." He shook his head, "Try and find out what you can from this man. I would also like you to speak at the service. You are dismissed."

Harry stood slowly and retreated from the office.

* * *

><p>Ginny had long gone to bed by the time Harry arrived back home from the Ministry. He didn't feel tired, and so poured himself a glass of firewhiskey and sat down at the kitchen table. The tablecloth was white, with delicate pink flowers Ginny had embroidered one winter evening. He traced the flowers now, feeling the rough pattern against his fingers. He couldn't draw his mind from the prisoner. His mind showed him the image he had witnessed early that day – a hunched figure, ready to attack, muscles tense and ready. Those hidden eyes. He tried to imagine them the way Malfoy had described them. Silver, like molten metal.<p>

Harry shivered and took a long drink of firewhiskey. He felt tense, nervous... eager. It was hard to admit the last emotion to himself. He wanted to get back to Azkaban, try to talk to the man again. Find out what he was. Every time he thought of it, the desire to go back, to see him again, grew. He didn't know what it was. Fascination, he supposed. Here was a dangerous entity. A killer behind bars. It was like watching a tiger in the zoo, all that aggression, all that danger. Close enough to touch. To touch those frightening, alien creatures. To be among that power.

Abruptly, Harry stood. He downed the last dregs of his firewiskey and put the glass back on the table. He couldn't wait for tomorrow. He was going to see the man now. He would stay there as long as it took, days. Until he spoke. Until he told Harry everything.

Dark excitement welling in him, he started towards the door.

"Harry?" Ginny stood, framed in the doorway to their bedroom. She wore a nightdress, thin and flowing, with her body clearly visible through it. He realised, with a sudden jolt, that he was hard. But it wasn't for her; he felt no spark from the curves of her body. It was the thought of the tiger in the cage that aroused him.

She frowned at his silence, and moved towards him. "Harry," she said again, "where are you going? You only came back an hour ago, I heard you come in."

Harry shook his head slightly, trying to clear it.

"I," he began, but his voice was throaty and rough. He coughed to clear it, "I've forgotten something. I need to go back."

"You need to go back _now_?" She asked, incredulous, "In the middle of the night? Why don't you just stay here with me," her voice suddenly became a purr, "I'm sure you can go tomorrow—"

"No." Harry interrupted, brushing her wandering hands aside. "I have to go now. I'll see you tomorrow, Ginny."

He gave her a quick, emotionless kiss on the cheek and hurried out the door, leaving her hurt and confused on the front step.

* * *

><p>The entrance chamber of Azkaban was deserted. Harry had the right to enter the prison whenever he needed to, but still he felt as though he were not meant to be here. It was eerie; the torches flickered silently in their brackets, casting dancing light on the stone walls. He met one guard, who merely nodded at him and opened the door to Corridor E.<p>

He walked slowly down the corridor, peering at each numbered door in turn. Finally, he reached the right door. Number 32.

He pressed his hand against the door. He didn't know the right incantation which would open it, but as he had helped strengthen and form the magical shields that guarded each room he found it relatively easy to pick through the threads of magic until he found the right one. The door made a quiet clicking sound, and slowly opened by its own accord.

The room was dark. Harry realised the lamps had probably only been lit here for his visit. Why would a prisoner need lights? Enough thin light would stream through the barred window in the day, but only the blackness of twilight entered through it now. He couldn't see the man at all. Harry turned, and flicked his wand in the direction of the lamps.

He turned back to the illuminated bars. The man stood at them, barely inches away, staring into Harry's face.

With a yell of fear, Harry stumbled back, slamming his back hard on the door to the cell. Cursing, he looked up. A small, lopsided smile grew on the man's face.

"Scared easy." The man commented. His hands were fists around the bars, but his stance was relaxed.

Harry made no response to this. He just rubbed his chest and scowled.

"You can call me Riddick." Riddick said, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his arms. "I've been waiting for you to come back."

Harry looked up, surprised. "Me? Why?"

Riddick's face was expressionless, "I can taste your hunger." He said, quietly.

"My _hunger_?" Harry replied, nonplussed. He moved a little towards the bars, so he stood just out of Riddick's reach if he tried to grab him.

"Hunger for something... dangerous." Riddick smiled slowly. Harry recalled his feelings in his kitchen, back at home. The tension, the excitement. The tiger in the cage.

"Riddick," Harry said, slowly, "where are you from?"

"I'm from nowhere." Riddick replied, his voice emotionless once more. "Birthplace unknown."

"But where were you travelling to?"

"Lupus 5." Riddick said blandly.

Harry was confused, "Where is that? Portugal? Spain? Russia?"

Riddick tilted his head. "It's a transport hub. You can get a ship almost anywhere."

"A boat?"

Riddick started to smile again. "A spaceship."

"A spaceship?" Harry replied, thrown, "Is that what you landed here in? A spaceship? From _space_?"

"This planet is primitive." Riddick said tonelessly. "You have no space travel." It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

"Are you... are you trying to trick me?" Harry asked. He wasn't sure why Riddick would lie about this, unless he had been escaping from another country and didn't want to go back.

Riddick didn't seem to think this deserved a reply. His smile was gone, and he had reverted to staring (or Harry thought he was) straight at Harry.

His burning desire to see what Riddick's eyes really looked like made him move forward again, though still out of the other man's reach.

"Let me see your eyes." He whispered, mesmerised. He didn't know why he said it. The silence and the flickering lights from the candles made him feel that he was dreaming. The firewhiskey had muddled him just enough to be brave enough to ask. He stared into Riddick's face, waiting.

A long moment passed, and then Riddick raised his hands to his face, and slowly drew up his goggles. His eyes were closed, but he slowly opened them. Harry's own eyes widened.

They were silver. But more than just the colour silver, like a boiling pot of molten silver, writhing and seething. They reflected the light from the flickering lamps. They were breathtaking. Harry felt like his heart was in his throat, frightened yet entranced. He didn't realise that his mouth had fallen open, just a little.

"Got to kill a few people," Riddick whispered, his voice so low and gritty Harry could barely make out the words, "Get sent down the mines of Cain 6. Diggin' up moonrock. So bright, it burns your eyes till you can't see it anymore. Eyeshine." He gave his slow grin. "Can't see the moonrock, but you can see the scum creeping up on you in the dark."

Suddenly, in a movement so fast Harry barely registered what was happening, Riddick had grabbed him. He roughly pulled him up to the bars, so they were pressed against each other in the spaces between them. Riddick's arm tightened around his neck.

"Release me!" Riddick roared, squeezing him still tighter. Harry choked, his hand grasping desperately for his wand. When he grabbed it, he twitched it vaguely in Riddick's direction and he was released. He jumped away, swinging around to see Riddick staring at him. He had used a simple stinging hex, and could see small red welts on Riddick's muscled bicep.

"Magic." Riddick said, thoughtful. "You think your magic blood would be different. Taste different. But that girl, she smelt like sweat and copper, just like everyone else. And her blood was just the same." He licked his lips, sensuously. "Tasted the same."

Harry stared at him, and to his horror, he felt himself harden from the lustful look on Riddick's face.

"I will-" Harry's voice was rough and dry, he swallowed and tried again, "I will tell the Ministry what you have said, and they will decide what to do."

Riddick didn't say a word; he just smiled at him, his silver eyes burning Harry's skin. Harry turned tail, and ran.

* * *

><p>Riddick's body was pressed hard against his. He felt his erection straining against his jeans, and moaned. Riddick's mouth clashed hungrily with his own, and Harry felt as though he was drawing strength, life, through the other man. Pressing his mouth harder into Harry's, Riddick slammed him against the wall, knocking the air from him. But Harry wasn't afraid, not like earlier, in the prison. He pulled Riddick closer towards him; every part of him – his muscled thighs, his hardness, his chest – seemed to meld into Harry. He wanted to climb inside Riddick's body, closer, <em>closer<em>. Riddick's bare chest was warm and solid against his – when had they taken their clothes off? – as he pulled back, ending their heated, endless kiss.

He was drowning in those silver eyes. They filled his vision, his mind, his soul. He couldn't breathe. He could feel his cock throbbing with release, pleasure overwhelmed him.

He woke.

The sheets were tangled around his legs, his erection flagging as the final evidence of his release spilled from him. Ginny slept on next to him, her body so close it was almost touching his.

He felt sick. He tore himself from the tangled blankets and stumbled to the bathroom, where he vomited, over and over, until his throat was raw.


End file.
